


some sad thing.

by tevinterr



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tevinterr/pseuds/tevinterr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"oh, this is not good," he whispers to himself as he recounts the dream, still grinning, noting the heaviness in his chest that is not present due to emptiness or regret, but rather to endearment, ever growing fondness — a spark.</p>
<p>"this is not good at all."</p>
            </blockquote>





	some sad thing.

I.

_"probably best discussed after you… wake up."_

he slowly blinks his eyes open as rays of sunlight begin to beam down upon him from the open windows of the rotunda's vast, high ceiling. he sits slouched in his armchair, an open book still resting lazily in his hands — the muscles in his jaw relax as he realizes he has awoken smiling. his ears turn a light shade of pink and he bites his lower lip, allowing himself to emit a small chuckle, a cross between a sigh and a hum.

he closes his eyes again momentarily, shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the smirk teasing the corners of his mouth, but fails miserably — the smile grows, something in his core warms to it, and he lights up.

"oh, this is not good," he whispers to himself as he recounts the dream, still grinning, noting the heaviness in his chest that is not present due to emptiness or regret, but rather to endearment, ever growing fondness — a spark.

"this is not good at all."

it is not until he drops his gaze to the book in his hands, the one filled with his notes and his research, that the smile falters — he curses himself quietly, tossing the book onto the desk before him and heaving a sigh as he leans back in his chair. he tells himself he cannot allow himself to indulge in this — whatever this is. the moment had been fleeting but that is all it could be — a fleeting moment, one they both could look back upon and laugh.

would they really laugh? or would they force smiles at each other, knowing that they share the same ache in their chest, one that longs to know what could have been? passing each other in skyhold's many halls, tension filling the air at every gesture, noting every exchanged glance, thinking about each other as they fall asleep.

the worst part is how badly he wants this — whatever this is.

she rushes into the atrium, jarring him from his thoughts so suddenly he springs to his feet, his heart skipping beats nervously as he attempts to compose himself. he tucks his hands behind his back and nods at her as she approaches him, hoping she has not noticed his flustered demeanor.

"sleep well?"

 

II.

weeks have gone by and he can hardly remember what it was like before her touch, her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips on his skin — her spirit is everything, the fire in her eyes gives him life, and yet there is always something lingering in the back of his mind, something weighing on him, keeping him from fully immersing himself in her, both body and soul.

she is a distraction. this — whatever this is. it is a distraction.

if he had only come to this realization sooner, maybe he would not be standing before her now, their figures swathed in moonlight, her face bare and beautiful — he sees her clearly for the first time and this moment, _this_ moment will be written as yet another one of his failures, another one of his missteps.

he had been so close to telling her everything, so close to giving in, so close he knows it will drive him mad for the rest of his days not knowing how she would have reacted — would she have accepted him? would she have turned him away? solas had never given himself to another so fully and even when it came to her… still, he could not.

"I am sorry," he hears himself saying, though the words are mechanical and distant, hollow as if it is not even his own voice coming from his mouth, "I distracted you from your duties."

he notes the glow remaining in her eyes, the realization that has not quite set in when he tells her:

"it will never happen again."

 

III.

he watches her solemnly from beneath a cracked and crumbling stone archway as she descends the steps toward the rest of her companions. the orb lays shattered at his feet, as does any notion that this moment will end happily for him, for her. there is no happily ever after in his story and he will not forget how he made her think that there could be, that he had given her that hope.

he disappears as soon as she turns around to look for him — he will not spoil this moment any more than he already has. it is not his moment.

 

IV.

he is alone now, lying flat on his back, staring up at the starless sky beside a makeshift fire that had long burned out. he cannot sleep, and when he does, he does not dream of the fade, he does not dream of being in control — he dreams of her. her eyes, specifically, ones that flicker like flames, full of light like the rays of first dawn trickling into the atrium and waking him from his slumber the morning after their first kiss.

he dreams of her eyes, which brim with tears, shine with anguish and confusion as he slowly withdraws his hand from hers, trying his best not to glance back as he leaves her. he dreams of her eyes, extinguished and hollow, the sound of wind biting his cheeks in a grey, lonely winter every time he catches her glancing his way.

a sigh, low and cool, escapes his lips as his own eyes flutter shut and he is plagued with images of her again, images that will one day blur and fade when wounds are not so fresh. there is no solace now, just the thought that this — whatever this was —

it was real (and it will never happen again).


End file.
